


Run Deep, Run Wide

by misura



Category: Out of the Dark - David Weber
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-08 09:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8838499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Basarab's eyes gleamed. "I assure you, my Stephen, at least one person in this village values you for your mind, rather than your many impressive physical attributes."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oneiriad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneiriad/gifts).



> after I read your letter, I couldn't resist checking out this book. so er, thanks for that, and have a schmoopy treat?
> 
> (on the one hand, I want to whine there weren't enough canon-bits-with-Mircea-and-Stephen-in-them, on the other hand, what bits there were were really great? and the 'my Stephen' thing was just so there and casual and gah, I just hope someone else wrote these two for you as well, because I want to read all the fic for these two. and right now there's uh none?)

It was the waiting, Stephen told himself. It could drive a man insane - or so he'd heard.

Truth was, Stephen'd never put much stock in those stories. In his opinion, no matter the circumstances, any man was at all times responsible for his own actions. You didn't want to get drunk and do something stupid, you stopped drinking before you got to that point. Simple.

You didn't want to go and make a fool of yourself by hitting on a superior officer, you didn't fall for the guy to begin with. You told yourself that when he was being friendly, that was all it was. That when he seemed to treat you special, that was all it was, too.

Pity that didn't seem quite as simple as just passing up on that 'one more drink'.

 

"Inaction does not agree with you, does it, my Stephen?"

As he did so often, Basarab seemed to be reading his mind. Stephen'd played poker; he _knew_ that he was able to keep a straight face and not let his thoughts and emotions show.

Of course, during a game of poker, Stephen'd be making a conscious effort to conceal his feelings. In regular, everyday life, maybe his poker face wasn't so good.

Or maybe Basarab was just the kind of person who was really, really good at reading other people.

"I know it's the smart thing to do," he said. "And maybe you weren't paying attention earlier today, but I'm not exactly spending my days sitting on my ass."

There were a great many things that needed doing around the village, and Stephen and his men were in considerable better condition than most of either the villagers or the refugees. It made them best suited to do the sort of work that required brute strength and stamina.

"Be assured that I was paying attention." Basarab smiled. "You enjoy losing yourself in physical labor for a while. But then evening comes, and here you are. Lost no longer."

It wasn't practical to keep working in the dark. Not with only candles for lighting.

"I guess I could try to sleep, but ... " Stephen shrugged. It was winter, and the nights were long. Longer than he needed them to be to get a good night's rest.

Often as not, if he went to bed early, he'd lie awake, brooding for what felt like hours, and then next morning, he'd feel like he hadn't slept a wink. By now, he'd learned his lesson.

_Of course, the fact that often as not, Mircea drops by for a chat if you stay up and about has got nothing to do with it._

"Bad dreams?" Basarab asked, for once appearing not to know exactly what he was thinking.

Stephen supposed that in this case, that was just as well. "Sometimes. I mean, even the good ones turn kind of bad when I wake up and remember ... well."

"You remember what you have lost. What that vermin has taken from you," Basarab said.

Stephen hesitated. There was comfort of a kind, in knowing that Basarab disliked the current situation as much as he did. On the other hand, "Didn't you come here to make me feel better about our strategy of lying low?"

"I came for the pleasure of your company, my Stephen." Basarab smiled. "My intentions were strictly selfish. No ulterior motives."

_Pity._ "Thanks, I think. Happy to be serving some purpose other than local strongman, packhorse and what-not."

Basarab's eyes gleamed. "I assure you, my Stephen, at least one person in this village values you for your mind, rather than your many impressive physical attributes."

_Yeah, and just my luck that it's the_ wrong _one._ "Huh. You really _were_ paying attention, weren't you?"

"There is nothing wrong with my eye-sight. Would you prefer for me to turn my attention elsewhere next time?"

Stephen made a show of thinking over the question. "Naw," he said at last. "You want to gaze in breathless admiration at some hunky American marine, I'm your guy."

Basarab chuckled. Stephen realized that at some point during these past - oh, sixty seconds or so, he'd begun to relax. At the same time, he felt far too awake, entirely too aware of how close Basarab was.

Most people, they got inside your 'personal bubble', their presence registered somehow, more often than not as an intrusion. With Basarab, somehow that didn't happen.

Sure, Stephen's eyes were telling his brains that Basarab was sitting way closer to him than would be considered 'normal' for two guys just hanging out, but his instincts were basically going 'so what?'.

Given that his instincts were often as not what kept him alive during combat, Stephen wondered if he should worry about that. _Then again, given that it only happens with Mircea ..._

_... I guess that I really_ am _screwed._

"Any good predator knows the value of patience," Basarab said. _Definitely_ without a clue as to what Stephen had been thinking about. "Still, I doubt any of them enjoy it. We practice patience out of necessity, not for our personal enjoyment. We refrain from pursuing what would be our preferred course of action in service of a greater cause, a greater good."

Stephen sighed. "Yeah."

"That necessity will not always exist, my Stephen."

Stephen realized that he and Basarab were practically touching. He could just scoot to the side a bit, and they'd be - _what, exactly, Stevie?_ He swallowed, his mouth feeling dry.

"There are other ways to lose yourself for a moment, my Stephen. To permit yourself to forget, for a moment, what has been and what retribution must be wrought upon those who have committed these acts against us."

All right, so maybe Stephen hadn't been quite as hard to read as he'd hoped these past minutes.

_Ball's in your court now, Stevie._ From the way Basarab held himself, it was clear that this was as far as he would go. He'd extended an invitation, phrased delicately enough to be brushed off as something innocuous. _Question is: are you game or not?_

Stupid question. He'd belonged to Basarab from the first time they'd met. Stephen knew damn well that no matter what happened or who'd try to order him to leave, he'd stay here, with this man, defending these people. Never mind that only a handful of them were Americans; they were all his now, same as he was Basarab's.

"Like what?" he asked. "No, don't tell me. Knitting?"

Basarab's lips were cool. He'd parted them slightly to respond to what, in Stephen's mind, hadn't been something requiring a response.

"I suppose that we could do with some extra scarves," Basarab murmured, as Stephen broke away for breath. "But no. I believe you know that was not what I referred to. Still - "

Stephen'd been raised to be polite and let people finish their sentences. That didn't keep him from wanting more _now_. Happily, Basarab didn't seem to mind.

"There are things you should know about me, my Stephen. Before this goes any further."

Stephen groaned. Seeing how still Basarab's body was helped. That was self-control, someone forcing himself to stay put, not someone reluctant to take this further or to just stick to kissing some more.

"Can't you tell me later? Over some beers, maybe? I trust you, I want this and I can't think of a single thing you could say or do that would make me change my mind."

"I do not drink ... beer," Basarab said.

"All right, not going to lie, kind of disappointing, but not a deal breaker. Anything else you don't like?"

Basarab looked at him. His eyes were warm. "You are going to make this very easy, are you not, my Stephen?"

"Well, I might need a few pointers, given how long it's been, but - "


End file.
